Does It Hurt?
by alsdssg
Summary: After Satine dies, Christian has a question for Nini.


Does It Hurt?

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue. Thank you.

Nini threw the door of her dressing room open and stepped through it. She tore angrily at her stays. They were so tight. Why did they have to be so tight? If they hadn't been so tight, maybe Satine wouldn't have died from that attack that night.

Ah, and what a night. A beautiful reunion between Young Shakespeare and his Sparkling Diamond. A coup d'etat that would be forever engraved in all of their memories. The defeat of Satine's "dearest duke." And how had it ended? In the diamond's death in the arms of Young Shakespeare.

Nini spat in contempt, though for that ridiculously wonderful and improbable but oh-so-real affair or for Satine's death, she did not know.

Diamonds were supposed to be unbreakable, but consumption was all that it took to break this one. How would Young Shakespeare take that one? Nini wondered. Would he kill himself and die oh-so-tragically as all great poets seemed to do upon the deaths of their lady-loves.

And Young Shakespeare was merely an English writer by the name of Christian. Even the name was out of place in this place. Where was God in this place? Who in this place was a true Christian? And while he may have been a wonderful writer, he knew so little of love other than that he craved it. As they all did. As even Nini, the heartless, little Welsh courtesan and part time lover of the Argentinean?

As she finally unlaced her corset and slipped out of her dress, she winced at her bruises. They were still there, even though it had been days since their tango. She could still feel his tight grip on her wrist, her thigh, her back, and it still hurt. Did he really have to be so rough? After all, while it felt good as well as bad when he touched her that way, it only felt bad afterwards.

"Does it hurt?" a quiet voice asked.

Nini sighed and turned to see Young Shakespeare himself standing in her doorway.

"Of course it hurts," she replied. "Now, why are you here?"

"Why did you tell the duke about us?" Christian asked.

"It was obvious," Nini said. "He would have found out without me."

"So you decided that you had to tell him?" Christian asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"That's what I said, Shakespeare," Nini replied. "Now, weren't you leaving this place?"

"I needed you to answer my question," Christian told her.

"Well, I answered it," Nini told him.

"No, you didn't," Christian retorted. "Why, Nini?"

"It was a tongue slip," the dancer said defensively.

"It wasn't," Christian whispered.

"Does it matter?" Nini demanded. "It wasn't the duke that killed her. It was the consumption."

Christian put his head in his hands at the reminder of Satine's death. He couldn't bear to hear it said. Not yet and maybe not ever.

"If she hadn't had to stay, we might have had a chance. I could have married her. I could have gotten her help," Christian said.

"If I hadn't told the duke, you wouldn't have ever thought to run away. If you wanna blame someone other than that damned disease, blame Zidler for telling her that she was dying."

"It's all lies here, isn't it?" Christian asked.

"It's a brothel. Whadiya expect?" Nini asked coldly.

"You weren't even kind enough to tell her that she was dying," Christian remarked, shaking his head.

"It was a kindness," Nini said, "and it was Zidler's choice. He didn't think that she'd be able to go on if she knew."

"Did he forbid you to tell her?" Christian asked. "You would have told her otherwise, wouldn't you? Just as you had to tell the duke about us when it didn't matter."

"He did forbid us to tell her," Nini acknowledged.

Christian snorted before he choked on it. The young writer bit down on his lip to stop himself from shedding tears.

"Cry if you want," Nini told him. "I wouldn't blame you."

"As if you'd understand if I did," Christian muttered. "You have no heart. You can't love, but you want to. That's why you did it. You were jealous."

"This is a brothel," Nini said. "We don't love. We pretend to."

"That's why I'm leaving this place," Christian told her. "There's no love, truth, or beauty here. It's just a pit of lies."

"Ever the poet, aren't you, Shakespeare?"

"Poetry," Christian remarked. "A beautiful thing, isn't it? Some would say it's just a bunch of words. That's what you think of it, isn't it? But it's not just that. Not if it's good. It's an expression of the soul, of feelings. It speaks of life. Of love. Of beauty. Of truth. I don't think that I could write a poem now. It would be too sad and too much."

Nini felt a lump forming in her throat. Here was this young boy, until recently so full of naiveté, judging her, accusing her of being the reason that they'd lost Satine. But no. She wasn't lost. They could look everywhere for her, and they wouldn't find her. She was dead.

Just say it, Nini, she told herself. It's not like you had trouble saying it before.

"It's alright to cry," Christian told her. "It's alright to show the world that you're human."

"But you've said that it's my fault," Nini protested. "What makes you think that I have the right to cry over it?"

"That's why you have the right," Christian said.

"I told you…"

"That it was the consumption? Yes, I suppose it was," Christian said. "It was more powerful than any of us, wasn't it? I wanted to save her, and the duke just wanted her, but we couldn't keep her here."

"You loved her," Nini said. For some reason, the words came out sadly when they would have come out contemptuously just a few minutes ago.

"I did, I do, and I will never stop," Christian said.

"Go," Nini told him. "Just go. You don't belong here, Shakespeare. It's not for you. Go to some place with Bohemians who have made something of life if there are any." She turned away from him.

"You still haven't answered my question," Christian said. She turned back to him. He was still standing in her doorway.

"You answered it yourself, Shakespeare," Nini said. "I was jealous. Nobody loves me, and I don't love anyone, but you and her…You had it. You had everything that we want. You get to remember that you can still feel. And I'm sorry for that. But I didn't kill her. Nobody killed her. Even you admitted that."

"Goodbye, Nini Leg-in-the-Air," Christian said, shutting the door.

"You don't blame me? Do you?" she asked.

"For her not being here?" Christian asked. "No. I hope that someday you'll understand love and its pain."

With that, Young Shakespeare walked out of her dressing room and the Moulin Rouge forever. The young woman spat, though at him or at her lewd surname, she didn't know.

"Going to write that novel, are you?" she called after him. "Going to flaunt what you had to the world?"

He didn't answer because he hadn't heard.

"Going to show that you had something to lose?" she continued. She sat down on her bed in just her chemise and put her head in her hands. One of the greatest men that she'd ever known had just walked out of the Moulin Rouge. God only knew where he was going. Maybe to kill himself after he finished his novel. Maybe she was lucky that she didn't love anyone. Then there wasn't anything to lose. But what was the point of living if there was nothing to lose?

Nini let out a strangled sob as she collapsed on her back. She lay there in tears until she heard a knock on her door.

"Who is it?" she asked, trying to keep the tears out of her voice.

"One who would stay the night," a nasally voice replied.

"Just a minute," the courtesan called out. She ran to her mirror and looked into it. Her makeup was smeared all over her face, and her eyes and nose were both red. She scrubbed furiously at it. She then began to apply liberal amounts of makeup to get rid of the redness. She smiled brokenly at her reflection. She looked better than before even if that wasn't saying much. It wasn't as though it mattered. She probably looked too good for this toad.

"So the show goes on," she mumbled bitterly.

Mm, not sure if I'm too happy with it, but whatever. Review if you loved it, liked it, were okay with it, hated it…You get the picture. Just review.


End file.
